I wish that I could just unfurl. Spread wings as well as legs, let the Symphony ring, let it chime with this and Us...
What this room needs is a gong...
Kit drifts within the embrace of the boat upon the sea and his mortal coil upon the waterbed. He lies upon his stomach, swaddled in silk and satin, his skin bare, an ever-lightening olive. Ringlet curls shift as he turns his head, his arms resting beneath his pillow, his chin resting upon the cushioned surface.
He looks to you and he smiles. He smiles with his eyes, grey sparkling -- like the spirit of stars.
Kit props his head upon his hand, his elbow disappearing in the cushion. The bed ripples with the slight motion -- but not overmuch. His resurrection of purpose in London is starting to show. The days of soccer with the young girls of St. Ingrid's -- the Belles of St. Ingrid's, as they are becoming known -- are turning poet's muscles into athletes once again.
"I do wish Iceland weren't so far," Kit says, Christopher's purr loitering on his tongue. "It would be oh so convenient, you know..."
Soldekai grins, the corners of his mouth pulling against each other in a growing smile. "It's not so far," he returns, more comfortable with the bobbing of the waterbed. Soldekai can almost anticipate the motions. "What...do you have vacation time now?" he teases.
His voice quiets as he waits for a response. The bed shudders as Soldekai slides from his elbows to his chest again, his mouth kissing the curve of the rear before him. He looks up the bed to you, head tilting to the side. "We'll go there when we can," he adds, figuring your words might mean more than he understood a second ago. "I may have time in a few human weeks..." months, more like, "...and we visit there instead of London." That said, Soldekai's mouth parts at your skin again, this kiss more like a suckle. His hands glide from hips to the small of your back. "How's that?" he asks softly.
"I can dream from almost anywhere," he says. The changes of his recent reassignment are most noticeable in his legs, his thighs, so evident as they shift a little at the suckle, and then a little more in answer to your question. Kit turns his head, he looks to you over a shoulder. Such a look from such a face, curls out of place, and lidding eyes and spreading mouth. Brows lift. How is that? How is the spread before you? "It is wonderful," he grins. Oh, you mean the bit about Iceland...
"We should meet there. It is more... free. I can stretch my wings, and wrap them around you. And I can be more vocal," he chuckles. Kit lowers to the bed, arms winding around his pillow. With spreading thighs, he curls to look at you. "But... you will have to meet me here, yes? And we will have to go from here? Or shall we meet on the Marches instead..." He pauses, silver eyes sparkling. "I know you don't like to call on me there. All of our business becomes fodder for the talkative. Is there an angel of mouths?" he wonders. "There must be," he slants a smile, "... for all the talking..."
Soldekai squints, his chin resting at the lift of your right cheek. "Um, yes...but I can't think of his name. Hmm," Soldekai grunts, bending his head to kiss again. That will bother him the rest of the afternoon, until he remembers.
"And what's wrong with being vocal here?" Soldekai murmurs, eyes closing as his nose brushes your skin. "Who's going to hear?" he wonders.
"I don't know," he breathes, he closes his eyes. "Perhaps I am still just paranoid. Still... I like my boat, and my bed," he looks back to you, "... especially when you are in it with me -- lord, to know what a bed is for -- but it is no heated volcanic pools. I like the steam on my wings... and your wings around me. It is as close to ... touching You as I can come to. Here... it is just not practical..."
The bed ripples a little as he settles back down. A wide smile moves over his mouth, warming his expression. "More of that," he purrs it as only a cherub can. It is the panther in him. "I do... want more of that..."
"More?" Soldekai whispers, his breath warm. Waves of air roll with intent, to warm the body Soldekai holds. The bed ripples when he bends his knee and his foot rises. Another kiss comes with the unmistakable draw of his tongue.
"It is more free," Soldekai says, his cheek against yours. "That is the beauty of a wild tether." Power and a Word unleashed, but not yet harnessed to resonate with precision. "Unknown," Soldekai adds quietly, as if to himself. He's thinking -- the stillness gives it away -- but then he returns to the moment with the press of his tongue again, this time firmly between the cheeks that part beneath his hands. His nose and lips are not so far behind.
"We'll go Home," Soldekai murmurs, causing his tongue to flutter and breath to dance. "No Marches," he whispers, "I'll...find you here..."
"Better?"
He sings...
It comes in a breath, in a sound, soft words upon the edge of a groan. The song is not a song of dreams, not a song of transition, nor a song of lust -- that would be forbidden -- but a song he sings just between the two of you. You are the beginning phrase, you are the verse, you are the refrain, and when the words leave his tongue, his body unfolds.
The bed ripples as his elbows dig into the surface, his chest lifting slightly. It is his hips that lift to meet you. His curl-topped head bends, and he breathes your name again.
"Much more free," Kit murrs, turning his head, looking at you past his shoulder, more defined with days, no weeks now, of activity. "It is our Home, Soldekai... the place... that is truly..."
"Ours," he sings out...
And 'Yes'...
"I like to be here," he softly chuckles, "...and, my love, I like you to be there..." He, like the bed beneath you both, ripples, upper body finding the surface of the bed, his hips lifting to you, thighs spreading. It would be lewd -- and likely there are some (Dominic) who would find it both lewd and unnecessary. "I will... think of you... and when you can come... you will be here...and then we will go..."
"I wish I could surprise you... you are always one step ahead of me, Brilliant Lover..."
The tongue, now so expertly fluid, suddently retracts, and Soldekai above the plane of your rear, eyes narrowing again.
Instead of asking, he shakes it off, not quite knowing where 'here' is, which 'there' he's enjoyed at, and what happens when he 'comes' someplace.
"You always...confuse me..." Soldekai admits, grinning at his choice of word. "Surprise me, well..." Soldekai winks and dips again below the horizon.
"Because I carry conversations airily while spread before your mouth?" Kit winks and laughs, a chiming of bells, so musical, as he lowers again. And then...
Surprise...
He turns over, rolling, a motion made easy by the ever-changing surface of the bed. He moves, the bed gives, his desire and wish made to manifest. Upon his back, he can watch you. Upon his back, his hands can dip and please. Upon his back, he may spread his legs most glorious. And they are glorious. And you. And he.
"I love you," he purrs again, fingers moving toward your head, his length. With the rolling of the bed, he rolls his thighs. Upward and outward.
This reminds me of the heated pools of Iceland. Your mouth, the sliding of your tongue. My volcano is here. "Surprised?" Kit sings it with a grin, opening his eyes to watch you. He likes to watch you.
"I thought...you wanted to surprise me?" Soldekai says, head up now that you are in motion. "Isn't that what you just said? And..." Soldekai smirks, "...I love you too," seeing what 'love' apparently means at the moment.
Confusion aside, Soldekai lets his head drop to his shoulder. A thought flashes in his brilliantly gleaming eyes. "If..." and he responds as if your comments may be interpreted as a problem, "...I am ahead of you, perhaps, it is...because of What I Am?" he suggests.
Kit blinks and Christopher that exists within Kit, giving the spark of silver, that lightning trace of divinity in his smoky grey eyes, halts his current stream of volcanic thought to utter an eloquent, "Hmm?" He smiles, a curl of his lips and his hand reaches for you, your head, guiding you back to him. Why are we talking?
He smiles, brilliant and he shakes his head. "I am not worried..." he whisper-sings it and a stream of pleasing affirmations leaves his lips afterwards. "I am not ashamed... I am not afraid... that I love you like this... I love you like this," Kit murmurs. "Come up here," he breathes it. "I want to disappear in the Us that we create..."
"So, what's this about wanting to surprise me then?" Soldekai wonders, moving up the bed with practiced movements. The fall of his shoulders and hips are rather cat-like. He's still trying to understand your earlier comment. "You surprise me often...I learn from you all the time," Soldekai explains, fitting himself squarely between your legs. His hands slide beneath, supporting your shoulders.
His eyes smolder, smoking, swirling grey. In the grey, flecks of lightning as you come to him, fitting between his legs. Your arms, strong arms, slip beneath him, the bed rolling you to him, lifting him to you. Kit smiles, just a curl of his lips and his hands rest upon your shoulders, the nape of your neck. "Ah, I have my Master's Affliction. Seeming literal when I am only speaking metaphorically. I ... meant only that it would be nice if I could meet you there... if I could, sometime, surprise you, dousing my feathers in one of your delightful," O! His voice! His body matches the sound of his voice in its motion against you. "... heated pools. How... divine," Kit breathes, he grins, he kisses you and speaks against your mouth, "... to be able to go there whenever I would want to. To call you there... to say... I am here, my love, come to me." He laughs softly. "Maybe I should just stay on the Marches... work and take all of my respite in Iceland..."
"That is an option," Soldekai agrees, though his mouth parts widely at your neck, teeth bared at the skin. "Or..." and Dominic shall not be happy if he ever heard of this, "...you could go there whenever you desire. Karinda could take you whenever you like, I could arrange it. Another is...well, we," and though Soldekai body intimates other ideas, he continues on the conversational path, "...you go there yourself, when you like. There are other ways."
Soldekai draws up from your neck to see your face.
"No one can know...that you may know how..."
There is such stillness. Just for a moment, suddenly. We become We. Joined in body -- it is no less than the joining of the souls. Simply different. Simply amazing. Kit tilts his head, both at the feel of your mouth upon his neck and to watch you move over him. Anticipation like another hand that strokes against him as he watches each moment of it tick by. We become We.
"I am the keeper of secrets," he says it against your ear, tongue coiling. "Deep held dreams and myriad aspirations." And he smiles, even as his teeth drag then press at the lobe, "Besides... we haven't had secrets for a while ... you and I..." Kit smiles, turning his head to nip at your lips. "What are the other ways..."
I want to unfurl my wings right now... I want to run them over you...
"I am always eager to learn... as you know. I am a student more than I am a teacher." He grins. "And... I ... really want to be in Iceland... right now... to move on you as I wish to move... to flap my wings against your back, raise them and watch them tremble. Take me there..." he kisses again. "And teach me about these...other ways..."
His body flushes as you speak to him. Soldekai's expression waxes glassy, staring down at you in some great wonder. It washes over him in a wave of blood beneath his skin, sending him ruddied.
Lust twined with the volitality of a Malakim.
Soldekai closes his eyes, shutting you out. A vain attempt, as sight is only one of many senses, the least of which is your body beneath and around him.
"Never..." and Soldekai's voice trembles, "...never ask me for anything again, when we are like this. Do you...understand, Christopher?"
Do you know what vows and promises can be etched too easily upon his Kind?
How vulnerable a Malakim can be?
Perhaps no one can. The Malakim do not fall. The Malakim are God's Steel. The Malakim have no weakness. The Malakim have no Will. The Malakim Are their Vows.
But this is a Malakim like no other.
Soldekai exhales loudly, pain on his face. He falls back onto the bed, causing the water to swell, fall, and swell again. His hand comes to grasp at his chest, as if some ache lie there.
The Symphony shudders and a wing lies over you, lightly, comforting as he curls up against you. Midnight blue feathers are edged in fire that does not burn. It only lights the way, as the wings of a sentinel should -- particularly an outcast sentinel.
"I am sorry, Soldekai," he whispers. "I meant no harm... but I harmed you nonetheless." There is regret, but no tinkling sounds of dissonance. He places a kiss upon your shoulder, lips beseeching forgiveness. "I did not think..." Silver eyes close as his mouth closes upon your hand that lies upon your chest, no mortal breath moving over your hand but some scent suddenly of myrrh and frankincense. "What may I do to ease your pain... the pain that I have caused..."
He will not ask for such things again. Vain trivialities really, he sees it now. No, nothing so great wasted on such a triviality as meeting in Iceland. There is concern etched on his face even as pain was etched on yours.
"It's alright," Soldekai whispers. This surprises him, his pain, and only after a few deep breaths do his fingers unfurl and lie flat at his chest.
"You...did not do anything," he adds, uncertainty there though. "I don't...believe," he admits. "I...I should..." Soldekai exhales, "...just give me a moment." To understand and fix this sudden opening. His fingers stir slightly, acting out some invisible activity.
The wing draws away and the dusky cherub gives his lover the Moment requested. His silver eyes lower to the bed and from them drip strange signs of unhappiness. To hurt a beloved -- this would have caused dissonance were you yet attuned, or if you were mortal. They are not of water, nor are they truly tears. They are more elemental moments imprinted on his face, the raw elements of cherubic concern.
But he is quiet as you ask him to be. And then suddenly he rises, "I will make tea," he thinks to say, as he stands naked, beautiful winged creature with the sad eyes.
"No, no," Soldekai breathes, still trying to regain himself. His hand reaches over and snaps around your wrist, faster than any mortal has the right to move. "Stay with me," he breathes, staring at the ceiling. "Please..."
The bed ripples with his rejoining weight, and fingers find your hair, your forehead, as he curls up against you. It would be feline, if he could ever become Himself again. "Of course," he murmurs, bending, his mouth brushing at your forehead afterwards.
He is quiet again, giving you the moment (and then some) that you asked for. But while he, for once, says Nothing, his touch and his presence are constant. As is his worry.
Posted by rowan at September 14, 2003 03:33 PM
